After his divorce, Toan decided he would never marry again, but did not tell anybody of his decision. He saved money to buy an apartment in the living quarter "slum," and after buying some of the bare necessities needed, ran totally out of money. But the comforting thought was that from then on, there would no women in his house.
He had loved when he did not know what love was. He had married her when he did not know that marriage meant. He married her because of her smile, and paid for it with a chain of unhappy days.
Early in the summer, his happiness that there was no woman in the new house did not abate. One cold day in late autumn, however, he began getting confused, unable to hold on to his elation.
That day, like every other afternoon, he went to the bus stop not far from his office. His ‘Honda’ 81 motorbike had been sold to repay the loan he had taken to buy the house the year before. He had got used to taking the bus every afternoon now. He took the last bus and never missed it.
That day, as he sat there on the bench by the roadside, his mind was fooling around with silly thoughts that it would be much better for him to take the state-owned bus than to take the xe om (motorbike ‘taxi’) with a crash helmet on his head and a gauge mask on his mouth making him look like a fire-fighter. So he did not notice a woman with a baby crouched at the other end of the bench. It was very cold and a constant drizzle peppered the road. Suddenly he found that only he and the woman were there on the bench, waiting for the last bus, and flushed as though he was on a date, as though her presence there was not a coincidence. After the divorce, he had not gone out with any woman. He told no one that he disliked being near them. Every time he talked to or sat beside a woman, her memory and words returned to him: "Yes, you’re not so precious that I should stick to you!" an almost constant refrain in the last days of their marriage.
The street-lamps seemed to glow a deeper shade of yellow in the rain. The woman with her baby was now sitting a little nearer to him, and giving him an entreating look.
"Please carry the child for a moment. I’ll be back in just a moment."
"Where are you going? And if the bus comes, what will happen?"
"I’ll be back right away. If the bus comes, please put the child down on the bench."
He could not bring himself to refuse. He was not by nature a curious man, so he did not ask her anything else. He took the baby from her. The boy was about a year old, with rosy cheeks. He was sleeping soundly in a bunch of warm clothes that was not very luxurious, but warm. The boy’s milky smell and his breath blowing lightly onto his face, made him wide awake.
"Please keep your eyes on my bag," she said, running into the rain.
He looked after her and saw her go to the wall around a playground. She sat down, disappearing into the darkness of the wall that threw a long shadow. He felt ashamed at his initial suspicion.
The familiar No.56 bus slowed down as it came to the bus stop. The conductor popped his head out, asking: ‘Are you waiting for the bus? Hop on." He did not answer. In his arms was a baby boy and beside him was the woman’s bag. How could he leave them on the bench? The bus did not stop, shifting gears to speed away. He looked after it with indifference. It would take him about half an hour to walk home, but he did not mind it because it was cold now. He pressed the baby onto his body as it moved in his arms. His worry was now for the woman.
"Would she have enough money to get a xe om?"
She was contrite as she took the baby from him. "I am sorry, you missed the bus because of me."
"No problem, I live near here. It’s better that I warm myself up walking home. Where do you live?"
"Oh, I’m getting back to the Ha Dong bus station. I thought I would sleep at home tonight and leave for Van Dinh early in the morning."
"Can I call you a xe om?"
The woman looked at him in confusion. He understood immediately that she did not have any money. He cursed himself. He should have realised that if she had enough money, she would not have waited for the last bus with the baby in this weather.
"Oh, no, thank you," she said, "I’m afraid of going by motorbike. It’s all right. We will sleep here and take the first bus tomorrow morning."
How could she and her baby boy sleep at this bus stop, on a stone bench, under a bird wing’s roof that could not shelter them from the sun and the rain? And how would they protect themselves from the vagabonds who use this place to wile the night away and to get their heroin shots. Why can’t I take her home? He told her so, and extended his hands out to take the boy. But she refused, wrapping the boy with her jacket. He looked sullen as he left. As soon as he entered his house, he stood in front of the mirror to see if he looked like a thug.
He could not sleep a wink. At about midnight, he fumbled around and found some cheap old and new raincoats and took these to the bus stop. The mother was crouched over like a prawn on the bench, holding the boy tightly as if she was afraid of dropping him. She could not have slept at all. Just as he stepped into the bus stop, she sate up immediately.
"Oh, it’s you, I thought... I’m very glad you’ve come. I should have listened to you earlier."
"I can’t let you sleep here. You should come to my house and take the bus tomorrow morning."
He said this in a determined voice of a militiaman responsible for protecting the homeless. She did not refuse, just handed the boy to him and walked by his side, raising high the ragged raincoat to prevent the raindrops from falling on her face.
So there was a woman in his apartment again. Not just a woman, a baby boy as well. The first thing he discovered about her under the neon light in the house was that she was beautiful – an oval, gentle face, and as far as he could tell, under that face was the tenderness of an educated woman who had fallen down the social ladder, and highly conscious of it. The second thing he had found out was that the mother and her son were very hungry. When she turned herself away and opened the buttons of her blouse to suckle the baby, he could tell, without looking, that she was squeeze her breasts hard, but the boy was still crying. Her hands trembled in desperation, so he knew that the milk had run out of her breasts. The mother was hungry as well. He took out the electric kettle to boil water and emptied out the milk can. At first she said she was not used to drinking milk and that she was not hungry. But when he said she needed to drink milk so that she could have enough milk to feed her baby, she almost snatched the glass of milk from his hands, throwing him a grateful look. After she drained the glass, she asked: "Is it really true that there will be milk?"
"Yes, it is true. And if you drink another glass, there will be much more milk."
He insisted that she drank one more glass. Indeed, the boy had his fill afterwards and fell asleep in her arms
"Now put the boy down on the bed and take a little rest. I’ll cook two bowls of instant noodles. You should be hungry. And now I am, as well."
She said nothing. She was no longer standing on ceremony. She was really hungry. But something else was occupying her thoughts.
As they sat at his desk, eating, he reproached her, out of habit, for not trusting him.
"What were you afraid of when you insisted on not coming? Were you more afraid of me more than the thugs and thieves on the street? And your boy would have starved."
As she looked at him for understanding, he had the incredible feeling that he was seeing a woman for the first time.
"I am afraid of men. Every time a man invites me out, I shiver."
"Do you?" he said with bitter smile. "I’m only afraid of those who are not men."
"You must be very good at math," she said irrelevantly, but there was an air of experience and sensitivity. "But I’ve found no one like you."
There was only one place to lie down and only one blanket – now occupied by the boy. They sat by the desk, neither saying anything about going to sleep. Like any other woman, she asked him about his wife and children. He spoke about his family without speaking ill of any one. His was so sincere that she wanted to tell him her own story.
She thought of her home village. She had left her teaching job and followed him into city. He was handsome, garrulous and more importantly open-minded and kind. He lived with her in an apartment rented from someone and promised they would get married when they had money to buy a decent house. Even after the boy was born, however, there was no talk of a wedding. A neighbour had told her: "A guy like him will never marry you after you give him a child."
... "Today, when I returned home after taking my boy to get him vaccinated, his wife was in the house. She lived with her two children only a few kilometres away in the city. She threw out my bag, and I had no choice but to pick it up and leave. It was raining, and I was worried that my son could get sick as he had just been vaccinated. I have to go far away, the farther, the better. I am sorry, I lied to you."
"Why do you smile? Your story is no laughing matter."
"I will not be able to feed my son if I cry. Men are very talented, aren’t they? She lived only two kilometres away from my place... "
As the days passed, the "talented" man did not come and look for the woman and the boy. It was likely he knew where she was, but did not want to come. But for both Toan and the unhappy woman, this was of no importance at all. He no longer noticed that there was a woman in the house now. He was less thoughtful, though, and no longer had to depend on snack food. No longer did he think of the woman who had always searched his wallet and looked down up on him for his meagre salary.
One day, about two weeks she began living in his house, he returned home to find her and her son missing. On the desk was a letter in neat handwriting. "I know this is ungrateful, but I want to go back to my native village. I could not... correct a wrongdoing, it took a lot of time, so please sympathise with us. My son and I will always be grateful for your protection and refuge..." On the desk was the dinner tray with meal already cooked. His clothes had been arranged neatly in the small case. He shuddered at the once-prized loneliness that stretched ahead. After a long time, he felt the house lacked a woman.
Translated by Manh Chuong
